Kankakee Elvis impersonator Robbie Hurlbutt bought a purple clown car to impress the ladies. He sure thinks it has street appeal. What do you think?
“I have been working for 666 weeks now. Can I get a raise?” Hell’s intake clerk Lucy Furr asks her boss, Satan.
“I work harder than anybody here. I do 80 per cent of the work. I can run circles around the other damned people.”
“We provide you shelter with free heat. That is sufficient.”
“How much longer do I have to work? I am gonna quit if you don’t give me a raise.”
“You are here for all of eternity. According to your records, you had been assigned here because you had behaved like a bully your entire life. You were harassing an autistic person on their trip to Italy, tag teaming with your cousin Terry. And you had continued to bully that same person, plus scores of others at the cancer center where you had worked the check-out desk.”
“I don’t care. Get me outta here.”
“That’s not my decision. I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them. Now get back to work, or I will order you to the jagged rocks and bubbling excrement room,” Satan orders his subordinate Lucy.
It is that wonderful time of the year. Kankakee bill-collector Sybil Kibble enjoys eating dog food almost as much as she loves bothering strangers probably eating something else to ask for money. To celebrate the things she loves, Sybil decorates her Christmas tree with dog bones with the high hope that Santa brings her money for being a good lil debt collector. Do you think Sybil is on Santa’s good list or naughty list?
“All that birdie-birdie-birdie, chirp chirp cheer those cardinals sing in their mating calls, it is so repetitive,” drugstore clerk, vulnerable narcissist and Elvis impersonator Robert Roy Gary Hurlbutt complains in his mother’s Kankakee backyard.
“Umm, Robbie, I feel pretty confident Red is not looking to mate with you,” Sybil Kibble explains to the son of her neighbor and best friend PJ Hurlbutt with a smile as she plays the Angry Birds game on her phone.
JoAnn Kibble loves watching the squirrels chase each other in her Kankakee backyard, while looking out the window from the basement apartment she rents from her daughter, CRASS Lead Bill Collector and dog food aficionado Sybil. Much to the backyard birds’ dismay, she fills the feeders full of nuts.
Kankakee Elvis impersonator and vulnerable narcadoodle Robbie Hurlbutt thinks he is Elvis. He posted this billboard to hopefully bring in some birthday cheer from the single ladies. Do you think it will work? Don’t lock him in the bathroom!
“Where have you been?” Tara Bull barked at Linda Stay as she hovered over her desk.
“I had trouble driving in this weather and barely made it in. We got a foot of snow overnight and it took me over an hour to drive 25 miles,” Linda nervously explained as she set her purse and keys down on her cubicle desk.
“Well, I don’t have four-wheel drive and I made it just fine” Tara snipped as she berated the beleaguered Linda over her five minute tardiness. “I will mark this as a failure on your bi-weekly production report because attendance needs to be at 100%. You will not qualify for your hourly bonus this pay period. This is unacceptable.
Before Linda could react, Tara snapped “get on the phones!” and sat at her desk down to nom some breakfast burritos.
At 11:00, everyone could not wait to get off the phones. Yes, it was a dreaded production meeting which mandated the entire corporation’s presence, regardless of position, an award ceremony which invoked memories and emotions of high school assemblies. However, the collectors would do anything to get off the phones, even for an hour.
“I will get straight to the point. We need to increase production,” said Mr. Mack E. Avelli, Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) Chief Executive Officer. The crowd erupted in laughter when Tara Bull ripped one and crapped her pants.
“Did I do that?” asked an embarrassed Ms. Bull.
“We need to get more bullish!” said Mikey as the crowd continued to giggle.
“Silence!” Mr. Avelli shouted and the room went dead, as if you could cut the tension with a knife.
“Since nobody made production, the employee of the month award is going to go to the person who ranked highest on the quality metric. Without further ado, I present this award to Mrs. Linda Stay.”
The crowd cheered and clapped, that is everyone except for Tara. She went back to the washroom and filled the toilet, clearing everyone from the stalls and all employees within a 25-foot radius. Don’t light a match!
Sanctioned founder of the now defunct Mathew B. Johnson College of Intrepid Arts, Scary Barry Reynolds sees an ad for Peppi’s Portapotties on TV.
Thinking the gas stinking up his pet construction project in Albion is from a massive dump — residents pooping on the street — he calls on them for help, both practical and sinister.
“Peppi’s Portapotties, King and Queen of the Throne, the national poop treasure Bern Cacca speaking. What can we doo-doo for you today?”
“Do you know anything about gas?”
“Oh yeah! You got gas? I do. RRRRRRIPPPP. That was a good one!”
“Um yeah. I am calling you for help in the Turdology department. Can you come down to Albion, Indiana and sniff things out?
A flush is heard in the background. Barry continues his request:
“My wife his this “constrution”, I mean construction project going on in town, running until the end of the year. I was told we were blocking emergency access to the street. Why should I care if a bunch of junky locals OD on meth? Anyway, can you come down today, it’s an emergency.”
“We specialize in emergencies. Peppi and I will come right over.”
“Good, we need help clearing the air.”
Barry ends the call, excited to get the Caccas’ expertise in all things crappy.
After Bern Cacca finishes burning poopies in her Manteno, Illinois backyard, she peels out her driveway and hurries over to Albion, Indiana.
Hours pass, no sign of Peppi and Bernadette. Barry checks his phone.
“Umm, how do we get in so we can get the scoop on your poop? These roads are all blocked. Every single one of them.”
Barry texts Bern back:
“We are building 100 roads — all the more to block.”
An hour later, someone rings the doorbell outside the gate of Barry and Terry’s McMansion.
“Hi Barry. Peppi’s Portapotties. King and Queen–“
“How do you know my name?”
“You called me and told me.”
“I. Don’t. Like. That.”
Barry buzzes the gate open and the Caccamobile burns rubber across the Reynolds’ driveway.
“Park over there,” Barry demands, pointing to a crooked spot toward the end of the driveway, behind Barry’s multiple luxury cars.
The Caccas get out. Bern runs up to Barry, as if to hug a long lost classmate.
“Git!” Barry barks.
“Ooooh, I think you’re cute.”
Bern goes to hug Barry.
“I SAY GIT!”
“That’s my mating call. I met her in the bog,” Peppi Cacca tells Barry.
“She’s my bog witch extraordinaire! Entremanure by day, bog witch by night.”
“We met you there, remember?. Bern was taking a bath so we left. Can you help me clean up my act, I mean reputation? It really stinks out here.”
“Your construction crew hit a gas line. We only do portapotties.” Bernadette advises Barry.
“Nature is calling, we gotta go.”
Bernadette and Peppi Cacca make their way out of Albion, and back to Manteno over in Illinois, eventually. Bern did not get to burn rubber that night, only poopies.
Enjoy your doggie dessert!
Deerfield, Illinois-born drugstore chief, wacky inventor and barfly Wally Green is playing solitaire at The Gaslight after the nice lady in heels rejected his moves. Apparently his tall tales about wrongly losing the deed to Manhattan Island – after pirates had stolen it from his ancestors – was too much for her to handle. I wonder what she thinks of the air-horn inside his nose which blares whenever he blows it.